


Safe House

by jargonelle



Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jargonelle/pseuds/jargonelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-series. OC waits for Alec to rescue Max.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe House

**Author's Note:**

> Written for H/C bingo, prompt 'crucifixion'.

The safe house doesn’t feel safe.

It’s one of a hundred identical houses in the nicer area of Sector 4, and Original Cindy feels exposed. She’s turned the kitchen table into a makeshift hospital bed and boiled some water. It’s almost cooled now though, so she boils some more and goes through the supplies she gathered one more time. Bandages. Antiseptics. Towels. Painkillers. Tubes and needles for a blood transfusion. Scissors. Needle and thread. The strongest vodka she could find. Not much else.

She hears a vehicle stop outside the window and waits, heart pounding, ready to open the door. Four knocks. That’s the signal.

Alec’s opening up the back of a van when she gets to the door. “Is she…?” But she doesn’t need to ask. Max isn’t dead. Alec’s moving too quickly for Max to be dead.

“Shut the doors behind me,” he says, and he grabs Max out of the back and carries her inside. Original Cindy throws up in the largest bush in the garden before she can follow his orders.

He’s set Max down on the table and draped a sheet over her. Her hair’s gone, cut short, and there are bruises and cuts on her face. The worst is hidden.

Alec tosses Original Cindy a cell phone. “Logan’s number is listed under ‘Lee’,” he says, and looks back down at Max. “Take the van for a drive, a few blocks or so, call him, don’t mention Max by name. Don’t be longer than a minute. When you’re done, trash it and walk back.”

She can’t leave like this, not even for a minute, not even when’s she grateful that Alec’s trying to spare her. “Max needs me. I can-”

“I need you to do this,” he snaps, “Logan can get the word to Terminal City and I need to know that no one’s gonna be foolish enough to try and blast through the barricades tonight.”

“No one but you?”

Alec shrugs and his mouth smiles even though his eyes don’t. “I sneaked through, it’s different.” He picks up one of the bandages. “Now go. I’ve got this. There’ll be plenty for you to do when you get back.”

She shouldn’t be leaving, she knows, but Original Cindy takes the keys and runs. The faster she goes, the sooner she’ll return. The van’s stolen, obviously, and she’s never driven one like it before. There aren’t many cars around, which is good, because her hands are shaking with anger and fear. 

People did this to Max. Humans did this to Max. They nailed her to one of their crosses, cut her hair to show off her barcode and left her on display. And then they’d taken some hostages in case the police tried to intervene. That was the last the news had shown. Original Cindy didn’t know what Alec had done to get her out.

She drives to the southernmost checkpoint and leaves the van in a side street. Leaves the keys in the ignition. If someone wants to steal it, that’s fine. 

She calls Logan. Tells him that their friends are all right, even though that part’s a lie, and tells him to tell everyone else to stay at home tonight. Then she hangs up. Doesn’t let him question her, in case she breaks. She drops the phone in the trash outside a bar and starts walking back. One foot in front of the other.

It’s quiet on 9th, which is a good sign: no wailing sirens, no angry mobs. She knocks four times before entering, doesn’t want Alec to take her head off.

Max is out, pale and unconscious rather than sleeping, her arms and legs wrapped up tight. It smells awful though, in the room, like fire and fear and pain. Alec’s hooked himself up, sat perched on the side of the table Max is lying on, his blood dripping down from his arm into hers. There are blood-covered spikes of metal by his feet on the floor, a red puddle all around them. Oh God.

“I would’ve stayed,” she says, not sure if she’s looking for absolution or to hurt him.

“Max didn’t want you to be here,” Alec says, tiredly, “and I knew we could handle it.”

Original Cindy kisses Max’s forehead, light and quick, afraid to touch her anywhere else. “What the hell’d they do to you, Boo?”

Alec snorts. “You saw what they did.” He disconnects the tubing linking him and Max together. “I need an hour or two,” he says and stands up.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Original Cindy says and she isn’t. Anyone who comes looking for Max will have to go through her first. 

Alec opens the vodka, pours himself a glass and gulps it down straight, like he can’t even feel it. He does it again.

“You missing Crash or something?”

“Or something,” he agrees. “Call me if anything happens.”

Original Cindy takes a towel and lays it over the pool of blood on the floor. Alec heads into the front room and she hears the television come on. She wonders if they get cable in Terminal City.

Max doesn’t move except to breathe. She doesn’t flinch as Original Cindy takes her hand, or shy away when she carefully finger-combs her hair. She’s beautiful and strong and those bastards haven’t taken that from her. They haven’t taken her family and Original Cindy tells her that, over and over, until she wakes up. 

And then she tells her once more.


End file.
